Breathe, Your Life Into Me
by A Wish On the Moon
Summary: Derek is probably the worst person to go to for comfort. But, then again, Casey never expected her future to involve government conspiracies, murder, and road trips. It's funny how things work out, isn't it? (A tribute to SEZCPL's Legacy, but with a twist.)


**Disclaimer**: I lay no claim to any licensed characters or intellectual properties that were used in the making of this work.

* * *

**Escape the Fate**

* * *

"_Der_-ek!"

The shriek is so loud that it pierces the air, and you just give a grunt in reply. Air whizzes past your ears, biting at your cheeks and whipping the hair you never really got around to cutting short into your eyes. It stings in the way Canada's London winters do, and you curs as your car goes into a skid.

"…"

This is beyond dangerous, and you really hope Edwin and Lizzie never find out about what Space Case and you get into in your spare time. But her silence puts you on edge, leaves the skin at the back of your neck prickling and hairs on the front of your arms standing on end, and you'll say it was the curiosity rather than the panicked worry that allows you get out of the zone long enough to shout, "What, _Ca_-sey?"

Traffic answers you, and you're about to actually let the worry seep into your voice, when she breathes, as if afraid, "… Nothing."

Except it isn't nothing, and you _know_ her, — better than anyone, in fact — and that nervous, awkward tone that she only gives when she's feeling insecure. More than once, you wish Max was here, just so you could let off some steam (because, hey, no one's allowed to hurt your step-sis but you, right?), but he's not, and you groan. There's no way around it, and you can't let her die.

It's time… for the pep-talk. With reputation-staining and lie-breaking and all the rest of the problems that come with showing her you care.

"Listen, Case — "

You cut yourself off as you make a sharp turn, swerving the hunk of junk you hotwired just ten minutes ago to the left. Your body moves with the motion, and your shoulder smacks into the passenger seat. The car doesn't stop, though, — which would have really sucked for the Lord of the Lies, now, wouldn't it? — and you quickly right yourself, grabbing at the steering wheel spinning out of control.

You sigh as you steady yourself, wincing at the gasped, "_Derek_?!" coming from your comm-piece, and tighten your hands until the knuckles burn white. "Derek, what _happened_?!"

Perspiration slides down your throat, wiping away at the sweat falling into your eyes, and press the accelerator harder. Your eyes scan the city, ignoring the lights and the shadows and searching desperately for landmarks. "Not _now_, Princess." Because, really, this isn't the time.

"… Derek?"

"Yeah?"

"… I — I'm scared…"

Oh, for the love of all things Derek —

You glare at the road, as if imagining its death will make this less painful, less terrifying. "Listen; we'll get through this."

"But — "

"I mean it, Case."

"…"

"… Case?"

"… Where are you now?"

"I've got the key with me." You pay no attention to the stop signs and traffic lights, driving straight through the red. "I… I'm probably five minutes away — no, _damn it! _— make that ten." The weight of the USB in your right pocket is heavy, accusing. You ignore it, for what it's worth, because the guilt at getting your family involved comes later, not _now_.

"Oh. Ok." There's a bump, and you wince, knowing you probably ran over someone's pet. "Wait, what was that?"

"… I think it was a cat…"

"Oh, my god! _Der_-ek!"

"What?" you complain, because this? You can deal with this. It's so much better than listening to her cry on the phone, hiding underneath some guy's car as she waits for you to pick up. And, really, who in the world — besides Space-Case, here, because, _duh _— gets into these kinds of situations. "It was an accident!"

"Uh-huh, tell that to the _cat_!"

"Can't. Besides, it's kind of too late for that anyway." Before she can retort, you tap the line shut, and screech to a halt behind the McDonald's. There's a pun in there, somewhere, about Case going back to her roots, but you're kind of precoccupied. And, before the smoking piece of metal's even stopped, you slam the door open and jump out, rolling into the fall.

It's quieter than death right now, — that's something you've become too familiar with in your line of work — and you whisper (or sort of shout, really), "Casey?!"

You're checking underneath the wheels, walking down the parking lot, and hoping against hope that you hadn't left Casey alone as long as you think you have. Of course, she has to ruin it by grabbing your ankle, and you scream… like a very manly dude (because there's no way you'll ever admit that you squel like a little girl).

Casey's head pokes out, eyes shining with tears that you _really_ don't want to see, and she says, "Derek?" as if she's afraid you're not real.

"God, Case, get out from under there."

"You look like hell."

Concern laces her voice, and you shake it off. "Nah, I'm fine."

"No, Derek, you're bleeding, and — "

"God, Casey, I'm _fine_! But neither of us _will_ be if we don't leave _right_._ Now_."

Your step-sis looks at you as if she wants to pick up the argument you cut off in the car. She's smart, though, — something you'll never admit outside your own head — and she knows better than to make this situation worse. You don't help her as she drags her body out, because that's not how you both work, and you don't offer her any apologies.

She huffs, says, "Fine," in that way she used to, back when she was so much more than what all those boys broke her into, and huffs as she walks ahead. You grin when she looks confused, but she pretends she knows where she's going, and you let her lead with her head held high.

That, and her swagger is more of a sashay; it looks funny, because this is Casey, the most unsexy girl you've ever come across.

Wait a minute…

Your eyes cross at the thought, and, after you run it through your head once, twice, you put it to the side. The word "_Liar!_" screams at you, looping into all of the nooks and crannies of your mind, and you ignore it because, again, not the time to be thinking of having sex with your sort-of-not-really-okay-_very _hot step-sister. Besides, you've always been a master of denial. How is this any different?

* * *

When Case has finally settled down enough for you to grab a different car, — which, coincidentally, she just so happened to be leaning against, because, really, that old one was _known_, now — you don't waste time letting her climb inside. Instead, you just push her face-first into the backseat, jump in through the conveniently broken window, and start up the car without so much as a word.

"Urgh! _Der_-ek! You're impossible!"

You ignore her words, let her fix up the ruffles of her dress and the cuffs of her cardigan, and breathe. Sparks crackle at your fingertips as you attempt to juice up this new beast, — nowhere near as beautiful as the Prince, of course — and you lick your lips when you hear that wonderful, growling hum of life.

"Thanks, Princess; I try," you shoot back, flicking the wheel and easing the Mustang out of the driveway. Casey only grumbles your name under her breath, and you count it as a win for your team, even as the knowledge of what you've got stashed on your person makes you burn with shame; Casey nearly died for this thing, and the sooner you can get rid of it, the better.

The quiet is safer, at this point, and you drive in the silence. You move slow now, properly, because you need to pretend that you and Case aren't on the run, aren't in danger — aren't holding government secrets in your jeans.

… Come to think of it, how did _you_ get into this kind of situation?

"Mm."

A noise startles you out of your thoughts, and you glance back, irrationally, irrevocably worried. But, nothing's wrong, — besides the fact that Space Case has gone off to dreamland (where you have no doubt she's communicating with others of her kind) — and you shake the sudden stiffness in your shoulders and tautness in your limbs.

You think back to Queens, Casey, Edwin and Lizard and Smarti and the rest of your mismatched, messed-up family, and can't help but laugh at all of it. Everything was so much _simpler_ then. Hockey, Roxie, — that stupid _Jesse _of Klutzilla's — ' fact, you've still got that pic of Case in a nurse's outfit hanging out inside your wallet (not that she needs to know you kept that, of course).

But, now? Now, you've got a gun strapped to your shoulder underneath the leather jacket, a headache the size of Edwin bleeding from your head, and a wound that you really should pay attention to. Not to mention, you just nabbed Case on her way to a date (and you shouldn't feel as proud of that as you are).

And, in the end, Case isn't a dancer, or a doctor, or anything but a Head-Case, and you're not a sports star, or a film director, or anything but the King of Disasters. Neither of you have become the heroes of your own story, as Smarti would frown, and neither of you have escaped each other, no matter how much you expected to.

"... Hey," Case whispers, voice cracking with sleep, and you see her head nodding, as if she wants to doze off again.

The steady hum of the car seems louder, somehow, like the crickets outside. You don't look at her, just keep your eyes on the highway, and say, eventually, "Hey."

"What time is it?"

"… About midnight."

"Hmm."

You don't interrupt her musing, knowing from experience that her mind never stops thinking (and, really, you've been waiting for her to blow a gasket for a long time, now), and simply add a, "Yeah."

There's some more quiet, some more leaving each other in peace; it's the longest either of you have ever gone without talking — or arguing, now that you think about it — with each other. It's. It's nice, but you've never liked the quiet, and you hate it now more than ever, when the quiet is just the wait before the storm.

And, Casey? She isn't the quiet type. She's the kind to be loud and stupid and annoying and — and peppy, happy, bright, excited…. She's the sort of girl that plans and plans and plans, cleans and demands and goes crazy with the way she wants the world to work, and the way it actually works. You think she would never have lasted without you to keep her grounded and, strangely, weirdly, it seems… _right_.

Eventually, you find a motel to check into, and roll the girl to a stop. You exhale loudly, tensely, and press your head to the edge of the steering wheel. It's cold, icy, and it makes the blood thrumming too loudly with adrenaline calm, just a little. And, right now? It's exactly what you need.

"Hey, Derek?"

"Hm?"

"If we get through this — "

You snort, correct, "_When_, Casey. Not if, _when_."

You twist yourself around to look at her, see her roll her eyes and groan, "_Fine_. _When_ we get through this, can… I mean, I'll… we can't…"

"_When_ we get through this, Space Case, I'm going to collect all the taxes Edwin owes me — "

" — That's his _allowance_, Der — "

" — And _then_ I'm going to laugh at Dad's attempts to woo Nora — "

" — He's not _that_ bad; he — he just — "

" — And _then_ I'm going to buy Lizard that gerbil with the chipmunk cheeks she's always wanted — "

" — _Lizzie never_ — "

" — _Yes_, she _does!_ — "

" — Wait, are you still scared of _snakes_? _Really_? — "

" — Don't even joke about that, Case — "

" — I'll bring out the teddy bear, Derek, I swear — "

" — And then Smarti and Smerek can take back the Fortress that you McDonalds have so viciously stolen from us Venturis — "

" — _DER_-ek! — "

" — And, just when you think you're safe, Case, the Lord of the Lies will strike!"

You laugh as she shoves at you, eyes wide awake and as vicious as the day you both met, and snort, because her growl still makes your day, even years later (and doesn't that just make you sound _old_ — like, the _George of the Jungle_ kind of old).

Eventually, Casey McDonald lowers her orbit to match yours, and giggles tiredly, because you know this is what both of you need. And, as your fingers subconsciously intertwine with hers, you say, "Come on," she looks like she wants to say something about this, about how that sort of tension between you and her was lost the moment you walked away. You can see it in the way her eyes dart away, the way they come up to look into your own with the kind of hesitance that you once would have never expected from this McDonald.

You're Derek Venturi, though, and you don't give Casey McDonald a chance to back out of this; you've always been in it for the long haul, and you pull her closer, attach your lips to hers and close your eyes and will away any doubts you may have, because this isn't something that you need to think about. It never was.


End file.
